ZOHAR QUESTIONS – DANIEL MATT 1) How did you first become drawn to the mystical side of Judaism? My father, Hershel Matt, was a rabbi—a genuinely spiritual rabbi. He rarely used the word “mystical,” but I imbibed spirituality from him, from praying, singing, and studying with him. Largely because of him, I felt drawn to exploring the mystical dimension of Judaism. At Brandeis University I took courses in Jewish mysticism with Professor Alexander Altmann. Arthur Green, who was then a graduate student, taught an informal course in Hasidic texts. These courses inspired me to begin studying the Zohar, which I first undertook in Jerusalem at the Hebrew University during my junior year abroad in 1970. 2) How has the Zohar informed your life and what meaning can it have in our contemporary world—for Jews and other spiritual seekers? I see the Zohar as a celebration of the imagination. It shows how to discover radically new meaning in an ancient text. The Zohar, after all, is a commentary on the Torah, not an independent book. It challenges you to delve deeply into Scripture. Though it builds on all the previous layers of Jewish tradition, it also demonstrates a holy dissatisfaction with traditional formulations. Typically we read: “This verse has already been discussed, but…” It is that pregnant “but” that provides an opening for new discovery, for new possibilities of meaning. The Zohar has taught me to never stop questioning, to build on the past and to soar higher. Through its imaginative power, it has helped me cultivate a sense of wonder. 3) If the Zohar has been widely viewed by Jewish theologians to be as sacred as the Talmud and the Torah, why are so many Jews today unfamiliar with it? The Zohar was first circulated in small circles. Gradually it became more widely known, but because of its dense symbolism and specialized Aramaic vocabulary, it has remained a fairly hidden treasure. One of the strengths of The Zohar: Pritzker Edition is the extensive commentary, which unpacks the kabbalistic terminology and symbolism for the reader, making the text accessible. 4) How do the various branches of Judaism—Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform—view Kabbalah and the Zohar? What about different Jewish communities around the globe? Are there countries where the Zohar is more or less accepted or popular? How have attitudes toward the mystical side of Judaism changed over the centuries? What is the connection between contemporary Hasidism and the Zohar? It is difficult to generalize about how the various branches of Judaism view Kabbalah and the Zohar. Within each denomination there are rabbis and laypeople who are more inclined or less inclined toward mysticism. Generally, one could say that many ultra- Orthodox Jews adhere to mystical Judaism. Over the past 10-15 years, many Reform Jews have felt attracted to certain aspects of Kabbalah, seeking to deepen their spirituality. Kabbalah crystallized in Spain, and the Zohar first appeared there; so both Kabbalah and the Zohar have been revered throughout the Sephardic world. In contemporary Israel, Kabbalah and the Zohar are especially popular among Sephardic and Mizrahi (Eastern) Jews, but also among many young, secular Israelis who hunger for spirituality. Mystical Judaism gained in popularity after the revival in Safed late in the 16th century. After the debacle of the Sabbatean messianic movement, there was a reaction against mysticism, or at least against its public consumption. Hasidism can be seen as a popularization of Kabbalah, spreading mystical teachings once again to the masses, while neutralizing certain messianic aspects. 5) How did you become involved in this Zohar translation project? In September 1995 my friend Arthur Green called me and told me about a woman from Chicago named Margot Pritzker. She had been studying the Zohar with an Orthodox rabbi, Yehiel Poupko, but the dated English translation they were reading had proved inadequate. Margot had decided to commission a new translation, said Art, and she was inviting me to undertake the task. I was astounded, and told Art that I needed a few days to consider this. The days turned into weeks, which turned into months, as I kept wrestling with the thrilling, terrifying offer. I decided to translate a short section of the Zohar to see how it felt, but I poured myself into the experiment so intensely, day after day, that I was left drained, exhausted, discouraged. How could I keep this up for years and years? I reluctantly resolved to decline the offer, but Art convinced me to at least meet this woman and her rabbi, so the following May the four of us gathered at the O’Hare Hyatt. I expressed my hesitation to them, and told Margot that the project could take twelve-to-fifteen years—to which she responded, “You’re not scaring me!” I was won over by her genuine desire to penetrate the Zohar and make it accessible to English readers. 6) At what point in the project did you decide that you would have to first construct a critical Aramaic text? In deciding which variant to choose, did you always opt for the older one? What other considerations came into play? I began translating from the standard printed edition of the Zohar, figuring that I would check variant readings in the manuscripts when I came across difficult readings or multiple readings in the printed text. Gradually I discovered that in numerous other instances the manuscript variants offered superior readings; so I decided to work with the manuscripts more systematically. Deciding which variant to use is a constant challenge. Sometimes I see that a number of the older, more reliable manuscripts offer what seems to be a “better” reading: more in line with the Zohar’s unique theology, style, syntax, or vocabulary. For example, later copyists, editors or printers have often “corrected” apparent mistakes in the manuscripts—“mistakes” that are actually typical Zoharic formulations. These I restore. Often, as well, later hands have added explanatory words or phrases. Based on manuscript evidence, I often delete these, thereby restoring some of the original mystery to the text. In my commentary I offer clarification. 7) How do the different interpretations of the Zohar that have arisen in different times reflect the societies from which they emanated? The Zohar is such a powerful work of imagination that whoever studies it can’t help but imagining its message in new ways. Every commentary on the Zohar reflects the mentality of the commentator. The most significant development in Zoharic commentary was the Lurianic revolution. In the 16th century, Issac Luria immersed himself in the Zohar. His understanding of the text generated a new formulation of Kabbalah, which became dominant. All Kabbalists today are, in effect, Lurianic Kabbalists, and they read the Zohar through the lens of Lurianic Kabbalah. In my commentary I have attempted to go back before Luria, to scrape away several hundred years of Lurianic readings and recover something closer to “what the Zohar meant” when it first emerged. This, of course, is impossible; you cannot recapture the mentality of a 13th-century kabbalist or totally escape a 21st-century mindset. But still, I have tried to approach what one of my teachers used to call peshat ha-Zohar, its “simple sense.” 8) The Pritzker edition is the first annotated English translation by a recognized academic authority, but have there been scholarly translations with commentary into other languages? How did any of these editions—in Hebrew, French, German, or other languages—influence your English translation? I have consulted the excellent French translation by Charles Mopsik, which so far consists of seven volumes. He achieves a fine balance between accuracy and fluidity. I have consulted a number of fine Hebrew translations, including those of Yehudah Ashlag (the Sullam), Yechiel Bar-Lev (Yedid Nefesh), Yehudah Edri, Daniel Frisch (Matoq mi-Devash), and Isaish Tisbhy’s masterful anthology, Mishnat ha-Zohar (also available in an English translation by David Goldstein: The Wisdom of the Zohar). Hebrew renderings of the Zohar are extremely helpful because the author(s) of the Zohar was often thinking in Hebrew while composing in Aramaic. Although the old English translation by Sperling, Simon, and Levertoff is inadequate, it was nevertheless helpful. When its paraphrases didn’t capture the original Aramaic, they provided their own kind of commentary. A translator needs all the help he can muster, and I am grateful for the efforts of all my predecessors. 9) What are the special challenges of translating a work whose meaning is often cryptic and elusive? If much of the Zohar’s power and fascination lies in its language—its “unusual, striking wording” and “unruly, untamed vibrancy”—how does the translator convey this in a language whose structure and flavor are very different from the original? Is the Zohar purposefully cryptic or has its meaning become more and more obscure the further removed we are from the time when Aramaic was a living language? What indications are there in the text that let us know that the Zohar was “not intended to be easily understood, but rather to be deciphered”? What did you mean when you wrote that “in exploring the Zohar linguistic search and spiritual search go hand in hand”? The Zohar is notoriously obscure—perhaps the most difficult Jewish classic to translate. It was composed in 13th-century Spain mostly in Aramaic, a language no longer spoken there. The author(s) concocted a unique blend of Aramaic out of traditional sources. This unparalleled neo-Aramaic is peppered with enigmatic expressions, puns, outlandish constructions, puzzling neologisms, grammatical mistakes, and traces of medieval Hebrew and Castilian. The Zohar’s prose is poetic, overflowing with multiple connotations, composed in such a way that you often cannot pin down the precise meaning of a phrase.